


You're All I've Ever Needed

by siriuslyuptonogood



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Sex, BAMF Stiles, Beta Derek Hale, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Hair-pulling, M/M, Mention of Daddy Kink, Multi, Spanking, Sub Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-04-05 00:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14032098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyuptonogood/pseuds/siriuslyuptonogood
Summary: Stiles Stilinski has never needed Derek Hale, but Derek Hale has always needed Stiles Stilinksi."I don't need you, Derek" sent Derek away from Beacon Hills, back to New York, and he would like to think he's never looked back. He hasn't gone back, at least. Maybe he never will. He's happy in the city, has tons of hot, kinky sex with hotter-than-the-sun alphas, is completely satisfied. He doesn't need a pack. When one alpha breaks it off, there's another to replace him. It's New York. There are 8.5 million people. He's not worried. He's not lonely. No, not him.Except, he's thirty-three, and it's been seven years since he left Beacon Hills, seven years since he's had someone in his life longer than three or four months at a time. He isn't sure what he needs anymore, but he has a feeling it definitely isn't this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, this is a lot of exposition and getting the world set up, so further chapters will be shorter. I've been on an A/B/O kick lately, but this specific fic is prescribing to the alpha/beta/omega dynamics set up in the show. Derek is technically an omega/lone wolf, even if he's not willing to admit it. 
> 
> New York is a hub for wolves that don't have packs. It's generally neutral territory, has been for a century or so, and is a place where wolves of any status can live without fear of pack/land disputes.
> 
> More tags as the chapters go on!

The first time Derek met Stiles, it was the worst day of his whole life. Everything stank of smoke and there was a huge gaping hole inside of him. His family was dead.

Officer Stilinski, he wasn’t the sheriff then, looked at him with so much sympathy and asked a lot of questions. Derek mumbled replies. He knew it was Kate Argent. He _knew_. But how could he explain why Kate Argent would do something like this? It’s not like he could just come out and tell Stilinski he was a werewolf, his whole family were werewolves, and the Argents were hunters. So, mostly, he stayed quiet.

After a while, he was left alone, sitting next to Stilinski’s desk with his head down, glaring at the tan linoleum.

That’s when a pair of worn Spider-Man converse stopped right in front of him.

“Hey. Want a goldfish?”

Derek blinked at the shoes a few times and then looked up at the kid in front of him. He had big eyes, the color of honey, and his hair was buzzed close to his scalp.  His clothes were obvious hand-me-downs, too big for him, and worn. He had a bag of goldfish crackers under his arm and a handful of the little orange fish in his hand. He smelled like goldfish, fruit punch, but also like outside, like grass and dirt, tree sap. Derek was pretty sure he’d never seen this human in his life, yet here he was, offering him goldfish.

“My mom bought me a whole bag for today, and I’m kinda full, so you can have as many as you want,” the kid said, holding his hand out further.

Derek wanted to just tell him to get lost, but there was… something about him and he couldn’t say it, couldn’t bring himself to snap.

“I don’t really like goldfish, but thank you,” he said instead, shoulders sagging.

“You’re sad, huh?”

Derek wasn’t sure what to say, so he just nodded.

The kid nodded too and dropped his handful of goldfish back in the bag. He carefully rolled it closed, setting it on the desk.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go away.”

Derek found himself nodding again as the kid disappeared around the corner. He ended up looking back at the floor. He wasn’t sure for how long.

“You didn’t go away!” On top of all the other scents, the kid suddenly smelled like chocolate too. Derek looked up to see him with a dangerously full mug of hot chocolate with way too many mini marshmallows.

The wolf didn’t have the heart to tell him that he didn’t have anywhere else to go, so he just nodded. Again. The kid thrust the mug out and Derek had to quickly take it before hot chocolate sloshed all over the floor.

“Thank you,” he said, voice soft. The kid beamed and settled into the chair behind the desk, grabbing his goldfish and sitting back.

Derek looked at the hot chocolate again and then at the kid who was staring at him. He sighed through his nose and took a sip. It was hot, but pretty good, which was surprising, because this kid looked like he was maybe eight.

“It’s good, huh? The way my mom makes it,” he said, “Cinnamon and stuff. Always makes me happy.”

Derek nodded.

“Stiles, what are you doing?”

Derek looked up, right at Officer Stilinski, who was looking at the kid, not him. They had a similar scent, though Stilinski didn’t smell quite like he spent quite as much time outdoors. The kid was his, obviously.  Stiles. Stiles Stilinski? What kind of a name was that?

“Sittin, Dad, with my new friend. He was sad, so I made him hot chocolate, just like Mom makes,” the kid – Stiles – said, kicking his legs.

“Your new friend,” Stilinski repeated, looking at Derek who immediately looked down at his hot chocolate.

“Yeah! He’s cool. And mom said that ‘cos I’m ten now, I gotta think more about other people too, so, hot chocolate,” Stiles said very matter-of-factly. Ten. So he was just small.  

“Alright, kid, well, Derek, your sister is here,” Stilinski said, “She’s right out in the waiting area.”

Derek didn’t even say goodbye to Stiles, something he’d think about later when he couldn’t sleep on the scratchy motel sheets, but was up, setting his half full mug on the officer’s desk, and running until he met his older sister’s arms and she hugged him tight. He buried his face against her neck and sobbed apologies while she repeated “it wasn’t your fault” over and over and over.

  

The next time that Derek met Stiles, was nearly half a lifetime later. This time he’d lost his sister. Even though he begged her not to come back to Beacon Hills, to stay with him in New York. They were safe there. Beacon Hills wasn’t safe. Maybe hadn’t ever been. But she went anyway. Laura was alpha, and her home was Beacon Hills. He knew she’d go all along. And somehow, he also knew he’d never see her again as he hugged her goodbye, reluctant to let go.

They ran into each other in the woods. He looked the same, but different. His clothes fit a little better – a little – and his head was still buzzed close to the scalp. Fruit punch and goldfish had been replaced by the scent of coffee and pharmaceuticals, but his outdoor scent was still there.

Derek wasn’t kind. He growled, he threatened. He eventually ended up in the back of a damn police car. As if he’d killed his own sister.

When Stiles climbed into the front seat and looked back at him, he wanted, for some reason, to ask if he remembered that day in the station. If he remembered him, the sad boy who had needed hot chocolate on the worst day of his life. Well, to date. Losing Laura was pretty bad too. He was the only one left.

He didn’t ask. He just glared.

Stiles ended up being useful. Scott too. Peter, who wasn’t dead, but wasn’t alive until he was, died, only not really, Derek became alpha and he felt himself turn into an asshole. Stiles and Scott didn’t trust him. But he didn’t blame them, he wouldn’t have trusted him either.

He’d never wanted to be alpha. It’d never been his lot in life. It was Laura’s and he was happy about it. He didn’t want to be in charge, and then, as expected, he fucked it all up. He watched his pack be torn apart in front of him. Erica, first, then Boyd on his own claws.

Cora came out of all of it, though, and he was more than willing to give up his alpha for her. It was a relief. Not only was his baby sister alive, but he wasn’t an alpha anymore. He could breathe again.

He went with Cora to South America after that. She stayed. He wandered. He ended up back in Beacon Hills at the beginning of summer, before the Nogitsune, when he and Stiles managed to get along for a whole summer before everything came crashing down again. Jennifer first. Another of Derek’s bad choices. And that opened the door for the Nogitsune. 

Just after that was over, when Allison was gone, but so was the Nogitsune, he saw Stiles for the last time. He climbed in his bedroom window and just stopped. Everything stank of sad. Of too many days without a shower and the stinging saltiness of tears. There wasn’t a person to be seen, just a lump under the blankets. Derek hesitantly reached out to press a hand to what he was pretty sure was a shoulder. The body jerked.

“Go away.” The tone was sharp, angry, so unlike Stiles.

“Stiles—“

Stiles sat up and glared. “Go away, Derek.”

“Stiles, please, I just–“

“Want to help? Yeah, fuck off. I don’t need your help.”

Derek felt something like a balloon blowing up inside his chest, making it too hard to breathe and he leaned back.

“Stiles,” he said, voice soft.

“I don’t need you, Derek,” Stiles spat, “Go swoop in and save someone else. I don’t need to be saved. I don’t need your help. I don’t need you. Fuck off.”

Derek didn’t know what he could say, so he didn’t. He took a deep breath and climbed out the window.

He drove out of Beacon Hills that night and hasn’t been back.

He moved back into the apartment he lived in with Laura in New York. It still smelled vaguely like her and it made his heart hurt.

Scott sent him letters, updated him on the pack. Isaac went to France with Chris Argent and came home with a penchant for cheese that stinks. Lydia learned more control over her banshee powers. A kid, Liam, joined the pack. He was young and Scott asked about how to help him control himself.

And Stiles. The summer before Stiles went off to college, he almost died. Derek knew that much. He also knew that the two of them had a pact, so when a wendigo all but disemboweled Stiles three week before his departure for the east coast, Scott gave him the bite. It took, but Derek could tell from Scott’s letter that they weren’t sure it would.

He could imagine Stiles as a wolf, had always thought he’d make a good one.

He considered going back then, to help, to see if he was needed, but he didn’t. Stiles had never needed him, though it seemed like he’d always needed Stiles. He thought back on that first moment in the sheriff’s station, the pool, when Boyd had been killed by his own hands, he’d always needed Stiles, but Stiles had made it very clear that he didn’t need Derek. And Derek wasn’t sure he could handle ever hearing him say it again.

That’s when he started to fade.

He wasn’t part of their pack, hadn’t ever been really, so he just stopped existing. He sold his sister’s apartment, where they’d lived together for six years on the upper east side, and bought a new one, a loft, that overlooked the Hudson. He didn’t leave a forwarding address.

This loft was different than the one in Beacon Hills. For one, it was meant to live in. No cement walls, no big holes, floors of concrete. It was lighter, airier. He woke up every morning and could see the Hudson River from his bed. There were no bad memories there. Just his future.

 

\--

 

“Alpha,” Derek cries out as his head is shoved down into the pillow by the clawed hand on the back of his neck.

“Wait, boy,” the alpha on top of him growls, his other hand cuts into Derek’s hip, gripping onto him as he fucks him into the mattress. Derek’s about to come undone, but he’s been told he’s not allowed to come until the alpha does. He whines and tightens his muscles, eliciting a guttural moan and a quickened pace. With a few more brutal snaps of his hip, the alpha comes inside of Derek whose orgasm follows immediately after. His body goes weak and boneless, happy, blissful.

The alpha, Samuel, doesn’t even pull out before he tugs Derek to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and holding him close.

Derek sighs. Samuel starts to lick the marks he’d left on his neck, gently, to help them heal, and it makes the beta shiver slightly. He’s sore, always is when Samuel gets his hands on him, though today it’s a little more, courtesy of a suggestive selfie sent a minute or two before a very important board meeting.

Derek had known what he was doing and he relished the feeling of the alpha’s hand against his ass, slapping down again and again until his skin was on fire. It’d hurt for a while. This was why Derek only had sex with alphas these days.

Eventually, Samuel pulls him to the shower. He’s always gentle after sex, washing him and showering him in affection, but he seems almost distracted today. He sits on the bed in his towel as Derek starts to get dressed.

“Derek,” the alpha says, tone so soft it makes Derek pause, worried, he turns as he buttons up his jeans.

“Yeah?”

“I met someone,” Samuel says after another quiet second.

Oh. Derek swallows, but nods. They aren’t a thing, just sex.

“She loves my kid,” the alpha adds, “Has one of her own the same age. They get on well.”

Derek sighs and steps close to Samuel. He cups his face. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. We’re sex, and you want a family. And as far as goodbye sex goes, this was fantastic.”

The alpha tips his head back and looks up at him. He smiles. “You’re a good boy. I’ll miss you.”

Derek leans in and kisses him one more time. “I’ll miss you too, alpha,” he says, then pulls back to finish dressing.

“If you ever need anything, you just give me a call, you understand?” Samuel says when Derek has all his clothes on. “Any time of day, I don’t care.”

Derek offers him a smile. “Yes, sir.” But he’ll never call. He’ll never have the occasion to. This isn’t the first time an alpha has ended things, and it won’t be the last. At least Samuel isn’t trying to pay him off.

After one last lingering hug, Derek is on his way out of the penthouse apartment and down to the first floor.

He stops to talk to the woman at the door. She’s as tall as him and wide in the hip. He’s pretty sure she could incapacitate him if she wanted to. She’s a beta too, and an army vet.

“Derek, my man!” she says with a grin, holding her hand out.

“Kyla,” he says, high fiving her, “This is it, Ky, I’m sorry to say, but I’m not going to be coming around anymore.”

Kyla’s face falls. “What? You and the big guy break up? What happened? He hurt you?”

Derek shakes his head. “He didn’t hurt me,” he says, “But he’s wanting to be a family man and I’m not the family type.”

“You could be! His kid adores you,”

Derek shrugs, “It’s not what I want, Ky.”

She heaves a big sigh, but nods. She fishes a card out of her pocket and hands it to Derek. “Call me some time, handsome, and we’ll go get drinks. I’m gonna miss your face.”

He takes the card, fiddling with it before he tugs out his wallet to put it inside. “I’ll see you later.”

Kyla hugs him tight and then lets him go.

He thinks about her card in his wallet his whole trip home. He’s not going to call. He is. No. Yeah. He should. He doesn’t have friends, doesn’t _need_ friends, but it’d be nice.

He’s thirty-three now. How long will he be content with these multi-month affairs that always end the same?

He inputs her number into his phone while in the elevator up to his apartment but doesn’t text her. Instead, he unlocks his door and trudges up the stairs to bed, flopping back.

Samuel’s imprint will last about a week, and then he’ll start wanting it again. He’s got a week, give or take, to find himself a new alpha.

 

\--

 

There’s something about this club. Derek can’t ever quite put his finger on it. He’s met almost all of his alphas here. That’s the beauty of New York City. It’s too big for one pack to control, so it’s just sort of become a hub, maybe a haven. There are tons of wolves of all designations. There are packs, but nobody controls anything. There are a few werewolf gangs that hold dominion over the darker parts of the city, but those aren’t places Derek goes. He’s not a fighter. Never has been.

He’s unwilling to call himself an omega, though deep down, he knows he is one. He doesn’t belong to a pack and an alpha. He still thinks of himself as a beta. For a few months at a time, he’ll belong to an alpha, and that’s enough. He thinks that once he uses the word omega, it’ll stick forever.

The club resides under a finance company and is accessible only from an alley staircase. The first floor is as expected. Music, lights, dancing, alcohol. There are comfortable couches and chairs all around the edges, making the dance floor the central focus.

One floor down is the playroom, cliché in red and black, complete with crosses, benches, and medical tables. Derek doesn’t like to go there. Sure, he likes to hurt, but almost exclusively in the context of getting fucked hard straight after. He played a little with Samuel. Called him Daddy, misbehaved, got spanked for it, and sent, sobbing, to stand in the corner, but it was in the penthouse. It was just them, just _for_ them. He has no interest in crying in public. His tears are only ever for his alpha. Whichever alpha that may be at the time.

The bottom floor is the worst of all. It’s freezing cold in the middle of summer and stinks of sex. It’s just a hallway full of identical doors to identical rooms with identical beds. He’s learned that the alphas who want to go down there first thing aren’t going to stick. He’s learned to have standards. When he first got to the city, he’d jump for any alpha, but now, well, now Derek Hale doesn’t have sex on the first date.

He’s on a couch in the corner, sipping an ice tea with two lemon wedges. He hadn’t even had to order or pay. Just had a glass slid into his hand with a “Sad to see you back, man,” from Della, the bartender. He keeps his body open, relaxed back, just slightly, legs barely spread. He watches the room.

He’s just the same as all the other betas in here, he knows. Why else come to a club that caters to alphas? The alphas pay to get in, or hold memberships with annual dues, while betas get in for free. What sets him apart, though, is that he’s not looking for a rich alpha. He doesn’t care. He has his own money, enough to live comfortably for more than his lifetime without ever lifting a finger. He actually pays to be here. He’s not the only one, but the betas like him are the exception, not the rule. There are only about a dozen betas who hold memberships. He does it because he can and because he likes to contribute. Dues keep it free for the other betas.

It’s easy to tell the difference between who’s the rule and who’s the exception. Betas looking for a rich alpha are either dressed too nice, like they are going for a job interview or something, or as provocatively as possible, skin tight jeans, mesh shirts showing off their nipple rings.

The betas like Derek look nice enough, just casual.

Derek has on dark jeans, snug, but not too tight, and a forest green Henley. He’s comfortable. That’s important. He has a blue wristband that signifies that he is a beta looking for a male alpha. There are more blues and purples here tonight than pinks, usually there’s a better mix.

“Hey, sexy,” a guy drawls and Derek looks up at him slowly. He’s not good looking, but he’s not bad looking either. Big. A bit of a brute. His eyes travel down to glance at the bulge in his jeans. It’d feel good, but it wouldn’t last.

“Hey yourself,” he replies finally, sitting up a little as an invitation to sit, but the guy doesn’t take the hint.

“You look like you would feel good on my cock,” the guy says and it takes everything for Derek not to sigh.

“I have it on good authority that I’m an excellent lay,” he replies instead, “But you’ve got to buy me dinner first.”

The guy snorts. “How ‘bout I take you out for kebabs after?” he offers, then adds, “If you’re a good boy, that is.”

Derek shakes his head. “No, thank you.” He’s polite but dismissive and the guy starts to puff up, as if he can’t believe he’s been rejected.

The beta does let out a sigh this time and sets his drink down on the table before standing. He takes a step forward, right in the guy’s face. He keeps his voice low, just for them. “Don’t embarrass yourself. You make a scene, you’ll get evicted. They can’t have meathead alphas getting pissy about being rejected. Bad for business. You might never be able to come back. There’s a beta somewhere in here who will fuck you tonight. Go find them and leave me be.”

The guy gapes but shrinks back down just slightly. He grumbles under his breath and walks away.

Derek settles back on the couch and sips his tea. He’s not going to find an alpha tonight.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, listen, I apologize for how long this took. I've been writing it basically all week. It's possible that I picked the worst possible time to start writing/posting this as I'm coming up on the last month of school, which means grading and writing papers. But! An update! And some angsty!Derek! 
> 
> Also, Derek's Loft/apartment is as follows: Big living room with a half bath, sizable kitchen with a bar and two chairs. Upstairs is the bedroom, which is open, had a balcony that looks down on the living room, master bathroom with an amazing shower. Big windows that look out at the river!

Derek’s marks fade by day four and the longing sets in again. He wants a refund, to march right up to Samuel’s stupid penthouse and demand he hurt him better. More. In a way that will last long enough for him to find the next alpha. He just needs a hit.

He finds himself at the club again, but early this time, when the crowd is still thin and he’s more out in the open. He prefers to slip in when it’s packed, sliding past the crowded dance floor to the quieter seating area knowing the alphas he has no interest in are occupied. But he’s desperate.  

Della is working. She smiles and hands him his usual. He hands her a twenty and moves through the thin crowd.

He doesn’t even notice her until she presses herself up against him. She wants, he can smell it and he looks down just slightly to take her in. She’s pretty, curvy; a mass of brown curls frames her face. He smiles and finds himself starting to move his hips in time with hers. She grinds against him and lets out a soft sound. Then she flashes her eyes at him. Gold. His disappointment fills him like sand, getting into all his nooks and crannies. He glances to his wrist. His sleeve fell at some point and he hadn’t notice. His bracelet is covered.

He looks at her again and imagines she’ll be as disappointed as he is. He flashes his blue eyes and her whole face goes red. She drops her head, mumbles something that sounds like an apology, and disappears into the crowd.

It sets the mood for his night. He rolls his sleeve up and makes sure it stays this time, but it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t look like an alpha anymore. He has gone soft. He runs every morning and does yoga after, but he doesn’t work out like he used to. He still gets mistaken, though, occasionally.

No one even approaches him, not even as the place fills. He cuts out early and buys a whole family’s worth of Chinese food on his way home. There’s just enough left over for breakfast the next morning.

 

\--

 

“Derek!” Kyla sounds too excited and Derek hasn’t even seen her yet. He’s only slightly regretting giving her a call. Except he hasn’t has a full conversation that wasn’t a food order in a week. No, that’s not necessarily true. There’s a stray cat who hangs around the alley behind his building and he held a short conversation with her when he delivered her a can of tuna. He feeds her every day. Others have come and gone, but she stays. He refuses to name her though. She isn’t his.

“I’m so glad you called,” Kyla says, and damn. Derek leans back. _Damn_. The beta looks so different out of her stiff, black uniform. She has on a tight green dress that shows off her bare, broad shoulders, and heels that look lethal. He’s still pretty sure she could incapacitate him without even thinking about it. She hugs him, really just goes for it, holding for longer than she ever has before. Maybe she can sense his loneliness. She smells like the freesia his grandmother grew in her garden when he was a child. He could remember laying on the living room floor in the summer, windows open and that scent wafting in.

She pulls back. “Sit, can I get you a drink?”

“Iced tea with a lemon would be great,” Derek replies, sitting.

“Sure thing, handsome,” she said with a wink and heads toward the bar. He takes this chance along to look around the place. It isn’t his style really. It’s lively and they’re playing the same songs that play on the radio all day long. But he’d told Kyla he didn’t care, so he had to stand by it.

“I’m so glad you came out tonight,” she says as she sits down again, setting a drink and coaster down for him.

“Thanks,” he replies, then shrugs, “I had a free night.” _Just like all the rest of them,_ he thinks as he takes a sip of his drink. The tea is weak. Slightly leafy water. He squeezes the lemon over top, then drops the rind in, giving it a stir with his straw.

“The big guy’s new lady friend is nice.”

Derek looks up at her. “Yeah?”

“She takes a sec to talk, y’know? Like you did. Big guy has a thing for sweethearts, I guess. Her kid’s sweet too. Little Miss seems to adore them both.”

He doesn’t reply at first, just stirs his drink around a few times. Samuel deserves someone nice, and Lizzie too. It just makes him ache a little inside.

“I’m happy for him,” he says finally, taking a long drink of his tea. Kyla watched him for a second.

“You could have been happy with him,” she says after a too-long pause, “if you’d let yourself. He was over the moon for you.”

Derek just shrugs. Kyla rolls her eyes but drops it.

“I bet that guy has never played darts in his life,” she says, pointing to a frat boy currently strolling up to the dart board. He looks confident though, his gait a little slow, like he’s showing off.

Derek tilts his head. “How do you know?”

She smirks and shrugs. “Just do. Next round says I’m right.”

They watch as this guy goes through some weird pre-throw ritual in which he shakes himself out, swipes a hand over his face, and then sets his feet shoulder width apart. His method seems to be to throw as hard as he can. He misses the target every damn time. Three darts stick out of the wall.

 Derek rolls his eyes and buys the next round. And the one after that, and the next four until Kyla has this dopey grin on her face, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

“You take bane tonight?” he asks, absently playing with her hair.

“Just enough to feel like this,” she replied with a smile, swaying slightly with the music, “Not shit-faced, but… like, drunk for sure.”

Derek nods. “You may have overshot your mark a little. You feel like dancing?”

“Nuh-uh.”

 “Then maybe it’s time to head home. I…” he pauses watching her for a second. No one knows where he lives aside from his neighbors and he has made sure they don’t even know his name, though he knows theirs.

“You can come back to mine, if you want,” he says, finally, “I’m close, a few blocks.”

Kyla offers him that dopey grin again and lets him lead her out. She’s loose and pliant now, so different from the rigidity she maintains at her job. He’s glad she can let loose sometimes. She probably needed tonight as much as he did.

He manages, barely, to get her up his stairs and into his apartment. He pushes her into the bathroom with a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and fills a water glass. She downs the whole thing when she stumbles from the bathroom and curls up on the couch, mumbling her thanks.

Derek refills her cup, tucks a blanket around her and heads up the stairs to his bed.

Kyla’s breathing is soft and even; it lulls him to sleep after only a few minutes.

 

\--

 

Derek wakes with the sun, as usual. He goes for a run, does a sun salutation and is laying on his back, still in corpse pose when he hears Kyla start to stir. He rolls to his right, takes a few deep breaths and slowly pushes himself to his feet. He glances over the balcony and she’s still buried under the blanket. He heads into the master bathroom and showers. When he emerges again, tugging on sweats and a t-shirt, she’s sitting up, though still wrapped up in the blanket. Her cup is empty.

“Morning,” he says.

She looks up, eyes following his descent down the stairs, then offers him a somewhat sheepish smile.

“Did I act a fool last night?” she asks, “I may have overdone it with the bane.”

“No, you’re a bit more tactile when you’re drunk, though,” he replies, amused.

Kyla leans her head back and lets out a breath. “I’m more tactile when I’m not at work, but usually better about boundaries. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” And that’s actually not a lie. “Breakfast? I have a coffee pot, and I make a mean omelet. I have bacon, mushroom, and spinach?”

Kyla looks at him a second, then laughs, “I’d love that.”

The coffee is, as always, step one, and then he starts to cook. Bacon goes in a frying pan as he slices mushrooms. He’s aware that the other beta has started to move around. He spares her a glance when he pauses slicing to turn the bacon. She is looking around, taking in his home, looking at every empty wall and surface.  She looks at him, meets his eyes and he knows what she’s thinking. And she’s not wrong.

He lets out a breath, removes the bacon, tosses the mushrooms in the grease and then turns to pour Kyla a cup of the finished coffee.

“How long have you lived here?” she asks as she takes the mug in both her hands, pulling it close.

“Couple years.” He turns back to cooking, chops the bacon, stirs the mushrooms around and starts heating up his big frying pan. He knows it looks like he just moved in. That he can count every piece of his furniture on just his fingers and no toes. He just doesn’t want to see the look on her face.

“Your couch is fucking comfortable,” Kyla says when he sets an omelet in front of her at the bar. He sits in the only other chair with his own and shrugs.

“Internet. I got lucky.”

She just hums in response.

 

\--

 

Later, his apartment still smells like another person, and _fuck._ He orders a water color painting of a flock of birds online and goes out.

 

\--

 

He ends up at the club because of course he does. He knew this was where he was headed the moment he left his apartment, just didn’t want to admit it. It’s absolutely packed tonight, and he feels lucky. Or maybe desperate.

Della isn’t working and he actually has to shout his order at the guy behind the counter. There’s no lemon. He hands over a five and edges his way around the crowd.

There’s a man in his usual spot. A gorgeous man with long limbs and a nice suit. His legs are spread in the most flagrant display of manspreading Derek has ever seen, but _fuck._

The man looks up at him, and he’s got piercing blue eyes. He smiles at Derek and his eyes flash red. Derek’s go blue, almost involuntarily. The smile gets wider. Derek’s drink is out of his hand and he’s been pushed onto the dance floor, an arm gripping tight around his waist as they move to the music. He hadn’t even seen the guy get up, but now he’s here and everything smells like arousal.

“My name is Eli, sweetheart, what’s yours?” the man says, lips close to his ear.

Derek shudders and barely manages to get out his name.

“Derek.” Eli repeats, tugging the beta against him.

“Alpha,” Derek all but whines. 

They dance, and Derek feels drunk, though he hasn’t had anything all evening. In the back of his mind, he knows this is bad, that he’s desperate and lonely and aching, but it feels good. God, it feels good to have an alpha’s hands on him. He kisses him, almost lunges forward to do it, but Eli curls his fingers tightly through his hair and kisses him back, takes control.

He lets him take him toward the stairs and down to the bottom floor. Derek shivers, but Eli just pulls him close and the attendant hands him a key.

Neither of them has lube. Derek sucks the alpha’s fingers into his mouth, gets them nice and wet.

Eli pushes two fingers into him first, fucking him up to his knuckles, and Derek cries out. It burns, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Two fingers gives way to three, and then nothing and he does whine this time, but there’s a hand in his hair and the blunt head of the alpha’s dick pressing against his hole. It’s too dry and burns even more now, but he just moans.

The pace Eli sets as soon as he’s fully in is fast and brutal, one hand in Derek’s hair, one gripping his hip, keeping him in place.

“Fuck.” Derek moans.

“Alpha please!” Derek cries.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , pleaaaase,” he gasps when he’s close.

But Eli is silent except for grunts. He hasn’t said anything since the dance floor, since he’d repeated Derek’s name to him.

Derek shouts when he comes, panting, heart threatening to crash right through his ribcage. Eli lets out a long, low groan as he comes and immediately pulls out. He tucks himself back inside his slacks and zips up. And then he’s gone.

Derek just lies there for a long time. He hates himself a little. A lot. He’d known this was a mistake on the dance floor, but he didn’t stop. This didn’t even take the edge off, no, because he needs the after part too. The hair petting, the soft kisses, the skin to skin contact.

Eventually, he gets up, uses the tiny ensuite bathroom to clean up and leaves. There are fewer people now, and that’s perfect because Derek doesn’t want anyone to touch him. He wants to go home and scrub the smell of Eli from his skin. Stairway door to outside door, a straight trajectory.

Maybe if he’d been any less filled to the brim with self-loathing, he’d have smelled it, the outdoors, the grass, the dirt, the tree sap. Maybe he’d have been prepared for the moment, less than ten feet down the alley from the club, he heard his name. Maybe.

It makes him stop. It makes him turn. It makes him freeze.

“Derek?”

And even in the dimly lit alley, Derek knows. He knows that pale skin, that slightly upturned nose. He could point out the moles down his cheek and neck in a dark room. But he’s bigger now. Taller that he was at sixteen. Taller than Derek. Broader. He’s filled out but is still lanky. He looks comfortable in his own skin. The sheen of sweat across his forehead means he’s been inside, means he’s been dancing.

Derek’s eyes drop down to his wrist, expecting to see a bracelet. Pink, or purple, maybe, but there’s nothing there and he swallows, looking back up at the face. The face that no longer belongs to a boy, but a man, and not just that but an alpha too.

“Stiles,” he says, then he’s aware of his feet again, aware of his pounding heart, aware of the fact that he’s not frozen in place.

Derek turns and runs away as fast as he can from that alley and that face.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek recovers from the shock of seeing Stiles for the first time in since he left Beacon Hills seven years ago. By recovers, of course, I mean he hides away in his loft for days, living off of take out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this took me near three weeks to write, so sorry! And the next update will have to wait until after May 5th when my 15-20 page seminar paper is due for Shakespeare, so sorry, again! But, I'm not abandoning this, especially not right when Derek gets a little feisty! 
> 
> FYI, I ship Derek and Carbs, especially Derek + Oreos. :) Just keep that in mind for the future.

Best case scenario. Stiles is just visiting New York (though who could he be visiting?), and he’ll leave, and Derek won’t ever have to see him again. Yeah, that’s okay. Everything can go on as it was before. Except, of course, Derek how holds the knowledge that Stiles Stilinski is an alpha werewolf. Stiles killed someone, specifically an alpha werewolf. Unless he is a true alpha. But what is the likelihood that both Scott _and_ Stiles are true alphas?

Worst case scenario. Stiles lives in New York. Derek can never go back to his club. He’s going to have to download tinder or something, but for werewolves. Except… that doesn’t exist? That would be dangerous for the secrecy of werewolves.

Derek sits on his couch. Maybe he can go back through his phone. Maybe one of the alphas in his past are free again. He scrolls through his contacts and his thumb hovers over Samuel’s name.

After a second, he presses home and tosses his phone onto the cushion next to him.

He’s going to have to move, he thinks as he sinks down into the couch. Atlanta is another decent hub. Portland, and LA, but he won’t go back to California. Probably not ever. Portland can be a contender. There are a lot of woods in the pacific northwest, places for him to run, but he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to handle the hipsters and craft beer.

He flops over on the couch and it smells like Kyla still. He considers calling her, even picks up his phone again, but doesn’t. Instead, he goes to bed.

 

\-- 

 

Derek doesn’t leave the loft for three days. He orders Thai one day and Italian the day after. On day three, he gets Indian. He just wants to drown himself in sauce drenched carbs. The morning of the fourth day, though Kyla calls. He stares at the screen and swipes his thumb across it at the last second.

“Hello?”

“I’m off tomorrow, want to go out tonight?” she sounds out of breath, like she’s been running.

“Where?”

“Uh, somewhere with good food and drinks?”

Derek rubs a hand across his face. “What kind of food?”

“Maybe burgers and fries? I haven’t had a good burger in months.”

“Anthony’s has the best burgers and shakes this side of town.”

“Meet you there?” Kyla asks, and it sounds like meetcha.

And against his better judgement, Derek says, “Yeah, meet you there.”

 

\--

 

Kyla is already waiting outside when Derek gets out of his Lyft. She’s leaning against the wall, and dressed down today, jeans and a jacket. He’s similarly dressed in jeans and a sweater, glad to have Fall finally rolling in after a long, hot summer. In his recent seclusion, he’d gone down and brought up his Fall clothes from the small storage unit that came with the loft. He always feels better when his closet is half full of sweaters.

Pushing herself away from the wall, Kyla waves, a smile spread across her mouth.

“Hey.” Derek pulls the door open for her.

“Thanks, handsome,” she says with an over-the-top wink and he can’t help but laugh as he follows her inside.

As soon as they are seated, a man steps up with a big smile and a pad of paper. He’s got a mess of dark curls, dark eyes, and dark skin, dressed in all black as is the restaurant uniform. He is on the shorter side, more compact than… than who? _Stiles._ He realizes a second later. This man is Stiles’ polar opposite in looks. _Fuck_.

“My name is Hector and I’ll be takin care of you this evening, can I get ya’ll any drinks or starters?” the man says, and his voice is low, velvety smooth with a slow, southern drawl. Derek could get lost in that voice. But this man is human. Just one way this guy is opposite of Stiles now, he guesses.

He must not reply quickly enough because Kyla touches his hand and he jumps slightly. They are both looking at him.

“Oh.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Can we get the starter sampler? And I’d like a monster Oreo milkshake.”

“Oo, that sounds good,” Kyla says, humming, “But, can I have the turtle milkshake? Just the regular is good.”

“I’ll go put those right in. Can I get you waters?” Hector smiles again.

“Sure!” Kyla replies, then turns to Derek when he leaves, “You okay?”

He watches Hector walk away, then glances up at Kyla. Her eyes are crinkled, amused.

“You should ask for his number before we go.”

He shakes his head. “He’s human.”

“So?”

“Don’t do humans.”

Kyla rolls her eyes. “Most of the population is human. You’re limiting yourself.”

Derek just shrugs and opens his menu. He knew when he agreed to come out what he would order, but he still takes him time looking over the menu, as he always does, but he’s going to get the double chili burger, topped with cheese, onions, and peppered bacon bits.

He really is quite boring these days.

Kyla taps her index finger against the table, looking over the menu herself. “All the bacon is peppered?”

He nods. “Locally sourced, well, local-ish. Less than an hour outside the city. It’s good.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not a huge fan of black pepper.”

Derek closes his menu and lays it down on the table. “The nacho burger has queso, tortilla strips and fresh pico.”

Kyla hummed to herself, considering.

When Hector returns, he has milkshakes.

Derek meets his eyes. “Thank you.”

Hector smiles, gaze lingering. “My pleasure.” He finally turns to look at Kyla. “Are y’all ready to order food?”

“Yeah, can I get the nacho burger? No pink.”

Hector nods and writes it down. “Fries okay with that?”

“Can I get the sweet potato fries?”

“Sure thing, darlin’, and for you, sir?”

Derek does not like being call sir, but he offers Hector a smile all the same. “Double Chili burger, very pink, all the fixings. Regular fries. Thank you.”

“I’ll put that in and check on the whereabouts of your appetizer.”

Kyla carefully eats the whipped cream that tops her milkshake with a spoon. “I didn’t take you for a chili burger guy.”

“What does that even mean?”

Kyla waves her hand. “Chili burgers are so… I mean, I guess I’ve always seen you as more dignified than a chili cheeseburger. You always seem like you came from money and I dunno, my mama would make a big thing of chili when she got her paycheck at the beginning of the month and freeze it. We ate it all month, least twice a week, on the cheap frozen burger patties from the super market, 99 cent packs of hot dogs, fries, rice, pasta, mashed potatoes. Chili has always felt like… well poor people food. I haven’t eaten it since I was a kid.”

Derek watches her as she talks. These are things he never knew, never expected of her.

He shakes his head. “We didn’t have it growing up. Some teen I knew from my hometown introduced me when I was in my twenties.”

Stiles. Stiles had plopped it down in front of him one evening after they’d worked all day at his loft, poring over book after book. Some from Deaton, some salvaged from his mother’s library. Eat, he’d said, taking in Derek’s wrinkled nose, it’s good. I promise. And he did. He trusted Stiles. It was delicious. And still his favorite.

 _Stop thinking about him._ He can’t. Hasn’t ever been able to. It’s easier to forget everything he left behind when he can feel the collar of his shirt chafe against marks on his neck, when he can still smell the alpha of the month on his own skin.  It’s easier to pretend he’s not lonely, but he’s gone too long without.

Hector smiles at him when he sets down the platter full of greasy fried food. Carbs. God, Derek could live on carbs. When he’d been an alpha, he ate only protein for days. He was hungry all the time. He’d been told it would settle, eventually, when his body got used to being an alpha, but he’d never gotten there.

He looks up and smiles back, but then his turns to look at Kyla and everything stops as his eyes meet those too familiar whiskey brown eyes. He quickly drops his gaze.

“Can I get y’all anything else?” Hector asks.

Derek lifts his head. “I think we’re good, thank you.” He pushes back from the table as soon as the waiter walks away.

“Be right back,” he tells Kyla.

“You okay?”

He doesn’t dare lie. “Bathroom,” he says with a shrug.

He locks himself in a stall and leans against the wall, trying to breathe. Stiles’ last words to him before he left play over and over in his head. _I don’t need you._  How many times since had he shouted _No, but I needed you_ at no one at all?

The door opens, and he holds his breath. Silence. He can hear his heart beating, god, he can smell him, but for a few long moments, all there is in silence.

“It’s been seven years,” Stiles says, finally and his voice is a little different, deeper, just a little, but it’s still unmistakably his.

Derek closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. “I know how long it’s been.”

“No call. No letter. No randomly being in my bedroom when I got home from school. Gone. For seven years.”

Fuck him. He doesn’t get to just… Derek grits his teeth and shoves away from the wall. He yanks the door open. “I know how long it’s been, Stiles,” he said, “Seven christmases, seven new years, seven birthdays. I haven’t been under a rock.”

Stiles tilts his head. “No, New York apparently. I should have guessed.” And he has this look on his face. Like he’s hurt or something.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Derek says.

“Like what? Like I’ve missed my friend?” Stiles asks, and that’s too much. Derek feels his face get hot.

“Fuck off, Stiles. You didn’t need me. And I needed to get away from Beacon Hills. I needed to start over, so I could move on.” He’s never been this angry with Stiles, not even that day in his bedroom. How dare he say that he missed him?  

“I didn’t need you?” Stiles has the audacity to look confused.

“No,” Derek says, lifting his chin, “You never did. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m out with a friend and I need to get back to her.”

He leaves the bathroom and rejoins Kyla just as their burgers arrive. He doesn’t see Stiles return to his table, not that he’s looking.

If Kyla notices that he’s distracted, she doesn’t mention it. He picks up the tab for dinner but lets her buy the movie tickets (she insists).  They see _Black Panther_ and he hates how much he thinks about Stiles, how Stiles was the one who introduced him to Marvel in the first place.

He and Kyla share a Lyft home, dropping her off first.

“I don’t know what happened at the restaurant.” She presses a hand to his knee. “But if you ever need to talk, I’m always here.”

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it. He hopes she knows how much he means it.

When he finally gets home, he drops right into bed and falls asleep fully dressed.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles confronts Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. I really thought that as soon as my paper was done, I'd be writing and I was, ish. But I was also really burnt out. And I had a lot of grading still to do, as well as enjoying what little summer break I'm going to have. As of tomorrow, I start French and then I leave for London (I'm psyched!). So I'm hoping to keep up and I'll try to write a little each day. 
> 
> Anyway, this is short, but I think really important, just for them moving forward. 
> 
> As a side note, I know I don't reply to comments, but I do want you to know that I read them all, and I appreciate every one of you who takes the time to write to me. :)

Derek wakes up to knocking, no banging, loud. Fuck, someone is banging on his door at–he gropes for his phone, which beeps at him because it’s nearly dead–7:03 in the morning. He stumbles out of bed and down the stairs. He throws the bolt, unhooks the chain, and all but flings the door open, ready to give the person who is _banging_ on his door this early in the morning a piece of his mind, except, he freezes.

Stiles. Stiles is the one banging on his door at this ungodly hour, and he looks pissed. His hair is wrecked, like he’s run his fingers through it a thousand times, he looks like he’s gotten no sleep and he’s in a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt, rumpled, like he’d worn them to bed, and like he’d tossed and turned for hours.

He steps right into Derek’s space, causing the other man to step back. This continues until they are both inside the apartment.

Stiles slams the door closed and points a finger at Derek. “You’re an asshole.”

Derek doesn’t have words, he just looks at him, eyes wide, slightly scared. Stiles’ anger was mildly alarming when he was human, but now he is an alpha werewolf. Everything in Derek make him want to drop to his knees and bare his neck to appease him.

“You left because of something I said days after the goddamn nogitsune,” he says, “Allison was dead. My body had hurt so many people. I’d almost lost everything, everyone I cared about, myself included.”

Derek swallows hard against a growing lump in his throat. Fuck.

“I thought you left because you needed to get out. I never blamed you for needing to get out of that town; I left as soon as I could. But I’ve spent all this time wondering what I did wrong, why you wouldn’t even call me, or write me a fucking letter like you did Scott, and now to find out it’s because of something I said when I was hurting, when I was angry and sad, feeling guilty for things I couldn’t control? Well, fuck you, Derek.”

For a second, it looks like Stiles wants to hit something, and Derek wouldn’t even move if he was the target. He’d just let Stiles go until he couldn’t anymore, but the alpha doesn’t hit anything. Instead, he goes to stand by the windows, looking out at the river.

After a few long, silent minutes, Derek clears his throat. “I’ve… I got scared,” he says for the first time out loud.

Stiles looks at him, eyes scanning up and down. He still smells mad, but now a little sad too. “Scared of what?” he asks.

Derek bites his lip and turns away. He speaks to the wall. “That I needed you, but you didn’t need me. Isaac didn’t need me. Scott was… doing just fine. Boyd and Erica were… gone because of me. It was just better if I wasn’t there.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.”

Derek turns around, eyebrows knitting together. “What?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and gestures toward him. “You always have to be a fucking martyr. You weren’t an alpha anymore. You were happier not an alpha, by the way, and Isaac needed an alpha, thus Scott. But he still needed you.” He pauses and rakes his hands through his hair with a sigh. “They both did. Why do you think Scott wrote you so much? And Isaac? He missed you a lot. Was destroyed when you left him so soon after her lost Allison. If he was… well not Isaac, he’d probably never forgive you. Luckily for you, he’s a big puppy and will come around. Erica and Boyd, not your fault, and I will keep saying it until I get it through your thick skull. As so for me, Derek, of course I fucking needed you. Maybe I didn’t at that exact moment when I wanted to wallow and be sad. I wanted to be left alone and you were there, but that didn’t mean fuck off forever, you idiot.”

Derek gapes at him, speechless for the second time. He drops down onto the couch and rests his head in his hands. After a minute or so, Stiles sits next to him. Derek takes a deep breath and lets himself enjoy Stiles’ scent for the first time since he’s seen him again. He smells like the woods still, like trees and dirt, and… home. Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” he says after some time.

“I don’t want an apology. I just want my friend back,” Stiles replies.

Silence falls and Derek wants to ask a million questions. How did the alpha happen? Why are you here in New York? What have you been doing for seven years? Do you think about me as much I think about you? But he asks none of them.

After a while, Stiles stands. “I should go,” he says.

Derek just nods. He doesn’t have any words right now, at least not any he wants to say. He just sits, listening to Stiles walk toward the door. He hears the bottom scrap across the welcome mat and suddenly he stands and turns.

“It was good to see you, Stiles,” he says, voice quiet, “I missed you.”

Stiles stops and looks at him. “I missed you too, Derek.” And then he leaves, shutting the door behind him, and Derek sinks down onto the couch, alone again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek meets a new guy. He has brunch with Stiles. Weird feelings and some weird evasiveness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY LISTEN I AM SO SORRY.   
> I spent all of June and some of July in England, and I barely had time for the classwork I was supposed to be finishing each week. BUT ENOUGH EXCUSES.   
> I've got some stuff coming up. I have a week to write 6000 words for the class I just finished and I have a conference, but I'm going to try so hard NOT to go this long again.   
> So, to make it up to you, the longest chapter since the first?? does that make it better? I don't know. Regardless, I hope you enjoy! I enjoy reading your comments and what you think about this as it goes along :) 
> 
> ALSO! You're welcome to hit me up on tumblr, I'm siriuslyuptonogood there too!

Derek doesn’t leave his loft for another day. He’s tired, but he’s also lonely. He considers calling Kyla a couple times but curls up under his covers instead. It’s been too long since he’s been with an alpha, since someone has taken control from him. He needs it, needs to go down, to float a while and let someone else be in charge.

When Derek finally drags himself from bed, he showers and glares at himself in the mirror. His hair is longer than it has ever been. It’s been months since he had a haircut, but Samuel had liked it a little longer, had liked being able to curl his fingers through it to pull Derek’s head back. Derek shivered slightly at the memory. Hair pulling had been a kink he discovered with Samuel, and it was the easiest way to get him into that space.

He gets dressed. Tighter jeans that usual, a shirt that clings. He is going to get what he wants tonight.

On the way out, he checks his mail. Junk, mostly. He pays everything online now. But there is a torn off piece of paper that catches his attention, and he grabs it before everything else goes into the trash.

Stiles’ handwriting hasn’t changed at all since high school.

_I’m sorry_. And a phone number. Derek looks at it for a long time, then shoves it into his pocket, heading out to meet his uber.

He sends a text from the car. _Me too._

 

The club is packed. Too packed. Derek wants to turn around and leave when he sees the line down the block. He doesn’t have to wait in that line, but he still shudders to think about what the inside looks like, smells like, sounds like. He usually steers clear on nights like this, but he desperate. He’s desperate a lot these days.

There’s someone in his usual spot, so he hovers by a wall, sipping his ice tea. His sleeves are short tonight, so nothing can cover his bracelet. He watches people dance, interact. He sways his hips with the music, eyes sharp.

 

Tonight is a bust. There are too many people, too much desperation on both sides, the room full of that sad, cloying scent. He wonders if he smells like that too. But it’s not worth it. His glass is empty, again, and he doesn’t want a fourth, instead he edges his way past the dance floor for the door.

“Hey,” says a deep voice as fingers curl around Derek’s wrist, “Don’t go.”

Derek turns and blinks up at the man, a man who has four inches on him at least, broad shoulders, and gray, damn near colorless eyes. His gaze drops to the hand wrapped around his wrist. Long fingers, big hands, and… no bracelet. He looks back up into the colorless eyes again and can’t help but offer a small smile.

“How about you go with me?” he says and the man, with his perfect beard and white, white teeth, smiles back before pulling Derek toward the exit.

Once out in the alley, Derek tugs back slightly. “Don’t you want to know my name?”

“I figured you’d tell it to me over dessert, but I’m Cal,” the man says, offering his hand this time.

Derek slides his own into it and squeezes before replying, “Derek, and if you’re offering ice cream, cookies and cream is my favorite.”

The man – Cal – laughs and it is a deep, rumbling sound that Derek would like to hear again. Maybe over ice cream. Maybe sometime in bed. He smiles. Definitely sometime in bed, but then he catches himself. _Too soon._

Derek hasn’t let anyone buy him anything in a long time, but he accepts the waffle cone that can barely contain the two massive scoops of cookies and cream ice cream. Cal gets a scoop of vanilla in a dish and they sit in the nearly empty shop at a table in the back corner.

“I’ve never seen you at the club before,” Derek says before his tongue darts out to prevent a rather serious drip.

Cal shakes his head.

“You’re new there?”

Cal nods.

“New York?”

Cal nods again and Derek sits back in his chair.

“From?”

“The wrong place apparently as I’ve only just met you,” Cal says finally and smiles in such a way that Derek can’t help but smile back.

Cal is a quiet person. He watches a lot, says very little, but when he does speak, Derek smiles. He feel so foolish, like a schoolboy with a crush and yet he has no intention of changing that.

When they’ve finished, they walk out to the street to hail a cab.

“You want to share?” Cal asks.

Derek shakes his head. “I’m walking.”

As the cab roles to a stop at the curb, the taller man leans in. “Can I see you again?”

Derek pauses, does he have a pen? Paper? He pats down his pockets and finds a pen he accidentally nicked from the bar when he’d closed out his tab. Curling his fingers around Cal’s wrist, he writes his number in the palm of his hand. Another smile, a quick press of lips to cheek, and Derek is left standing alone on the sidewalk, his insides feeling just a bit jumbled, but he walks home feeling hopeful.

 

Someone is knocking on his door. Derek rolls over, eyes bleary. Maybe it’s a dream. Nope, there it is again. Someone is actively at his door, needs his attention. Maybe it’s Mrs. Jones and she’s locked herself out and needs him to climb through her window -- _again_. Derek doesn’t have the patience for Mrs. Jones at this time of day. He was sleeping! Mornings are for sleeping!

Except Stiles is the one on the other side of his door, not Mrs. Jones. It is a relief in one sense, but in another, really not a relief at all. Because Stiles is still a person at his door during his sleeping time. He stares at him for way too long.

“Do you sleep?” he asks, “Because you always seem to come in the morning when I’d like to be sleeping.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Dude, it’s almost ten on a Thursday. You should be up anyway. I, finally, sleep like a normal person -- at night.”

Derek wrinkles his nose and turns away. He snuffles back up the stairs and flops face first onto his bed.

“Get up,” Stiles calls up the stairs, “We are going to brunch.”

“No, I’m sleeping.”

“We are going to brunch, Derek, I made a reservation. Get up.”

“Screw your reservation.”

Derek can hear Stiles scoff and smiles a little to himself, rolling to his back.

“I brought you a pack of oreos,” Stiles says.

Derek laughs. “I can’t be bribed with cookies, Stiles. I am an adult. I do know how to shop for groceries.”

“But these ones are currently in your home. Here, just for you. Super convenient.”

Derek groans, “You’re not going to go away until brunch happens, huh?”

“Nope.”

Derek groans again, louder this time to express his displeasure and then stretches out. He decides Stiles really hasn’t changed a bit. Still just as irritating as ever. Twenty minutes later, he is showered and ready to go out and an uber is already waiting.

 

Okay, so brunch is actually pretty nice. The place is not far from his apartment. It’s over-looking the river, and they have the most beautiful bacon Derek has ever seen. It’s thick, it’s crispy, and it glistens almost suggestively as they walk to their table, a booth in the corner next to a big window that overlooks the river.

“Okay,” he says after they are seated, “this is pretty nice.”

Stiles grins and opens his menu.

Derek decides pretty quickly what he wants and closes the menu, watching Stiles. He is still. He doesn’t squirm in his seat or tap his foot. Usually, well Derek can’t say usually anymore because it’s been too long to know Stiles’ usual, but he used to rearrange everything on the table, the condiments, the sugar packets, any special or drink menus, just to keep his hands occupied, but now he just looks over the menu, quiet, and then folds it.

He meets Derek’s gaze with an easy smile.

He seems so relaxed and Derek wants to ask if that’s the alpha in him. Being an alpha tore Derek up inside. He hated it, was angry, couldn’t handle it, but Stiles doesn’t look like he hates in. In fact, he seems completely at ease with himself.

“What looks good?” Stiles asks and it takes Derek a second to realize what he’s asking.

“Oh, uh, the eggs benedict.”

“The hollandaise here is perfection, good call.”

Derek nods, tapping his fingers against the table. “How many times have you been here?”

Stiles shrugs and replies, “half a dozen times or so? When I first got here, I wanted to do the New York brunch thing, then I fell in love.”

“How long have you been in New York?” Derek leans forward slightly.

“Eight months, give or take.”

Derek nods again and is about to ask another question when the waitress’ voice cuts in.

“Can I get you two started with something to drink?” she says, and she’s pretty with her mass of dark brown curls and her sweet dimples. Her name tag says Lizzie.

“Coffee, hold the cream,” Stiles replies, giving her a bright smile, then looks at Derek who, for a second, can’t remember what he wanted.

“Oh, uh, do you have green tea?”

“Pot or cup?” Lizzie asks.

“Pot, please,” Derek replies, unable to tear his gaze away from Stiles and how he is looking at her. Is that jealousy he feels? He shoves it down, reminds himself of Stiles’ romantic pursuits in high school, Lydia, Heather, Malia. Girls. All girls.

Lizzie’s voice cuts through again, “You two ready to order?”

Derek nods quickly. “Eggs benedict with bacon instead of ham, please.”

“Great!” she turns to Stiles. “and you sir?”

Derek’s stomach clenches at the sound of her calling Stiles sir. God, he’s being so stupid.

“Can I get the corned beef hash with two eggs over easy on top and a side of bacon?”

“Absolutely, I’ll get those orders right in and be back with your drinks.”

“Thank you, you’re an absolute doll,” Stiles says, smiling at her.

Derek watches for a second too long, then looks away quickly and at Lizzie as he hands her his menu.

When he looks back at Stiles, the man is watching him, quiet. He frowns.

“When did you get so quiet?”

Stiles raises one eyebrow. “Are you complaining? You used to beg me to shut up.”

Derek waves his hand around a little as he tries to figure out what to say, which makes the other man laugh.

“Your words filled up the space. Meant I didn’t have to talk,” he says finally.

Stiles tilts his head to the side. “And now?”

“God, I have to talk all the time now that I’m around people with normal socialization skills.”

Stiles laughs, and this one is a different than before. His eyes, close, his head goes back, and the sound is rich, but also bright, happy. Derek can’t help but compare it to the way Cal had laughed, the deep rumbling sort of sound. So different, both appealing, but Cal’s is more so. Yeah. Cal. Cal, who is interested in him, who has asked to see him again and obviously wants to be more than just friends. God, Derek hasn’t even truly gotten back to just friends with Stiles.

Derek… well he’s just never figured out how to stop thinking about the damn boy… man. Stiles is definitely a man now.

“God forbid Derek Hale has to socialize like a normal person,” Stiles says, rubbing a hand across his face and shaking his head.

Derek frowns at him. “I spent a lot of time alone before. Now… well…”

“Now?” Stiles asks, eyebrows raised.

Derek shrugs. “I… volunteer, so I have to talk to people. A lot. Or, usually. It’s been a few weeks.”

“You volunteer? That’s cute. You scaring kids straight with those eyebrows, sourwolf?”

Derek freezes a second and looks up at him. He hasn’t heard that in a long time and it takes him a couple seconds too long to respond.

He scowls. “Food bank, animal shelter, and uh, retirement home.”

Stiles’ eyes widen and his splits into that particular grin that has always made Derek want to close a door in his face. “You volunteer with cute little animals and little old ladies? Do they give you candies from their purses?”

“I run Bingo on Friday nights and Canasta on Tuesday afternoons,” he grits out.

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, grinning from ear to ear and Lizzie, thank god for Lizzie, takes that moment to return with Stiles’ coffee and Derek’s pot of tea.

Derek thanks her, then can be distracted with tea. And then, the food arrives pretty quickly after that. Stiles was right. The hollandaise is actual perfection and the man looks altogether too smug about it.

“What are you doing in New York?” Derek after a few minutes of quiet as they just enjoy the delicious food

“Oh, a tech job,” Stiles says, almost dismissively, which seems suspicious, “Turns out all that time spent on the computer researching paid off.”   

Derek’s eyes narrow, watching him for a second. His heart hadn’t blipped at all, but it still seems weird. Is it just because Stiles is so quiet now? He used to love to explain things to anybody who would listen.

“What kind of tech job?” he asks.

“Programming,” Stiles replies, taking a sip of his coffee, “I’m pretty okay at code.”

Derek just nods, then smiles. “You got into hacking, didn’t you?”

Stiles snorts, “For a while, yeah. Got me through my undergrad, but now, just programming. No big deal.”

But Derek still doesn’t quite believe him, but his phone vibrates in his pocket and he sets his fork down, sliding it out.

_Hey handsome, are you free for dinner tonight? I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we parted. La Lune at 7? – Cal_

Derek’s stomach flutters and he smiles, just staring at the text.

“What’s got you grinning like a fool over there, sourwolf?” Stiles’ voice cuts in and Derek’s gaze jumps back up to him as he shoves his phone into his pocket.

“Oh, no, nothing, it’s… I mean…” he stammers.

“A lover, perhaps?” Stiles asks, clearly amused and Derek just scowls at him.

“Just… well, a guy I met at the club last night. We hit it off.”

Stiles pauses, smile falling for just a second, but… why? Derek studies his face. The smile comes back.

“That’s awesome, dude! I hope it works out,” Stiles says and that one was a lie, the first blip in his heart. Why?

Stiles takes the few last bites of his breakfast and sits back, rubbing his stomach. “This was so good. I’m glad you came with me.”

“You didn’t really give me a choice,” Derek points out, sipping his tea.

Stiles just shrugs and smiles.

Derek tries to take the check but Stiles bats his hand away and pulls, to Derek’s surprise, a black Amex out of his wallet

“Programming, huh?” he asks and Stiles quickly slides his card into the check folder. He closes it and sets it aside.

“Pays well,” comes the reply. 

Derek smiles. “ _Really_ well.”

Stiles frowns, “Dude, it’s just whatever. A job. Don’t worry about it.”

Derek falls quiet, he watches Stiles. Why is he being evasive?

It’s quiet after that, awkward. They exchange pleasantries with the waitress, share an uber back to Derek’s apartment and say the normal sort of goodbyes.

“I’ll text you,” Stiles says.

And for the second time in twenty-four hours, Derek is left standing on a sidewalk alone, though this time the jumbled feeling snaking through his ribcage doesn’t make him feel hopeful, just confused and a little bit worried.

He remembers Cal’s text and hurries up to his apartment. He reads the text over again, pushing Stiles and his evasiveness from his mind and focusing on this attractive guy who couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Flopping back onto his bed, he smiles and replies,   _I would love that. I can’t wait to see you again._

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's friendship with Stiles progresses and so does his relationship with this handsome alpha Cal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grad school is officially kicking my butt, but I'm writing again, both original and fanfiction (hooray!) and I'm hoping to keep this momentum going! I have a paper due at the end of the month, but I feel good about a lot of things right now, so I'm hoping I won't keep you waiting this long again!! <3

At least twice a week, Stiles shows up at Derek’s loft with reservations and won’t take no for an answer. He doesn’t seem to mind Derek’s grumbling. Just ignores it like he did when he was a teenager.

On a Thursday morning, far too early for Derek’s taste, they climb into a waiting car and Stiles smiles and squeezes his shoulder. “Can’t get rid of me this time, big guy.”

Derek chooses not to point out that Stiles is at least two inches taller than him now and has filled out, no longer gawky limbs, but lean muscle and a rather imposing figure. Though Derek isn’t sure if that’s because of the alpha power or just because Stiles is almost twenty-five now and seems to have his life together. They were the same height when Stiles was seventeen and Derek was an alpha, but the difference was that one of them was done growing and would turn soft after he’d given up his power to save his sister.

Stiles always pays. Never wants to talk about his mystery source of income and just smirks at Derek’s sullen, “I have money too, you know.” It is as if Stiles always holds all the cards and he keeps them close to his chest.

Derek has never considered a world where Stiles holds all the power, but he finds he doesn’t mind. He isn’t sure he’d mind much these days regardless. Not with how well everything is suddenly going. He hadn’t realized how much he missed having friends and Stiles is easy. Stiles is familiar. Stiles is… well, Stiles is home.

And then there is Cal, who texts throughout every day and calls every night. They go out a few times a week to the movies, or a club with live music, dinner and a walk in the park. They go to a Broadway show once. Derek has never dated an alpha before. Not like this anyway. Sure, he’s gone out to dinner, or to the movies once or twice, but what he and his alphas had was sex. But Cal hasn’t more than kissed him and Derek is getting desperate. He wants Cal. Wants to get fucked and held, but Cal just smiles and tells him to be patient. Derek has never had this little control before. Part of him hates it, but a part, and a bigger part, he thinks, is weirdly satisfied to have an alpha be so in control of him.

 

\--

 

Cal invites Derek to a fundraiser dinner. He is in advertising and has to go.

“It would be much more fun with a beautiful man on my arm,” says he.

 

\--

 

“This suit looks awful,” Derek says to the full-length mirror on the back of his closet door.

“Come down so I can see,” Stiles calls from the couch.

“ _I_ look awful.”

“Come down so I can see,” Stiles repeats and Derek grumbles in his direction, but doesn’t move. He tugs at his collar, at the tie. Charcoal was a bad color choice, especially with the rich, maroon tie.

“You look fine,” Stiles says from behind him.

Derek jumps and scowls back at him before tugging at his tie again.

Stiles grips him by the shoulders and turns him so they are face to face. He starts to smooth out the collar, even swatting Derek’s hand away when his hand starts to move up again, to tug and pull nervously.

“Don’t touch the collar or the tie again,” Stiles warns, “You look good.”

Derek takes a deep breath in, then out, and turns to look at himself again.

He looks okay. Definitely not good. But okay. His hair is neatly styled, his beard trimmed.

“You look good,” Stiles repeats, “now go, you’re going to be late.”

Derek pulls a face and turns to make a quip about Stiles not being the boss of him, but he catches a glimpse of the time and Stiles is right. He has no interest in keeping Cal waiting.

“The spare key is on the blue keychain hanging by the microwave. Lock up?” Derek asks, grabbing his coat.

“Sure,” Stiles replies, sitting down on the bed, “Have fun.”

Derek glances at him for just a second. He doesn’t look happy, kind of like he is holding something back. Derek pauses.

Stiles looks up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Go.”

Derek can’t help but stick out his tongue and reply, “Yes, sir,” flippantly, before he heads down the stairs and out of the apartment.

 

Derek spends the cab ride worrying. He hasn’t even been the kind of person who goes to fundraisers. He doesn’t do events in suits. He’s never accompanied someone to this kind of thing before. What if he embarrasses Cal? What if he says all the wrong things?

But as soon as he steps out of the cab and Cal is there waiting with a smile, all of Derek’s fears vanish.

“You look amazing,” Cal says, offering his hand. He pulls Derek close as soon as the beta takes his hand and kisses him. He has never been this forward before, never kissed in public like this. Just in a car before they part.

“I got you this,” Cal says, offering up a dark, red rose boutonniere, “I’m pleased to see how well it will go.”

Derek feels light-headed, absolutely swept away by this man and his gestures as he pins the boutonniere to his suit. This is different than it’s ever been before. This feels like a relationship like he’s never had with an alpha before. This feels like one that might last.

Cal leads him inside this grand ballroom, bright and full of sounds and smells, a place that Derek would never go by himself, a place that he would find overwhelming and try to escape as soon as possible, but the arm around his waist, firm, tight, keeps him close to the alpha – to his alpha. He is content to stay here for the rest of the night.

They mingle with champagne in hand. Derek meets too many people to remember.

“Don’t worry,” Cal whispers in his ear, “You’ll never see them again, and if you do, they won’t remember either.”

Derek smiles, “If I do,” he repeats, “that mean you plan on bringing me to more of these things?”

“If it means I get to see you in a suit, absolutely,” Cal says, leading him toward a table, arm still snug around his waist.

“Derek?” says a voice from behind him. It is familiar and makes Derek stop and turn, then smile.

“Samuel!” he says, pulling away from Cal. He finds himself wrapped up in a familiar hug, surrounded by the familiar and comforting scent of the alpha for whom he had cared so deeply. When he pulled back, Samuel, with his full beard and warm, brown eyes, is smiling in a way that made his eyes crinkle. He’d always smiled at Derek like this when they first saw each other, always so happy to see him.

“It’s so good to see you,” he says, “You’ve been on my mind recently. I’ve missed you.”

Derek pauses a second. He doesn’t let himself miss alphas. They come and go so quickly that it hurts too much, but he is happy to see Samuel now and he finds that he missed him too.

“Me too,” he says quietly, then glances at Cal who isn’t smiling. He takes a deep breath and slides his hand into Cal’s.

“Samuel, this is Cal. Cal, Samuel,” he says, remembering the manners his mother did actually teach him as a child.

As expected, they sized each other up, quiet for a couple seconds too long and then Samuel thrust out his hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Cal,” he says.

Cal takes his hand and replies, “you too.”

Derek rolls his eyes. _Alphas._ They break apart and Samuel gives Derek’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Good to see you. Call me sometime and we can get together,” he says.

Derek just smiles. Calling Samuel would break all his rules, but he wants to. He never deleted his number.

Cal’s arm is tight around his waist again and he leads Derek away from Samuel to the perfectly set table where their names are delicately printed on cream colored cardstock.

“I ordered you the beef. I hope that’s okay,” Cal says, tone flat.

Derek looks at him, studying the downward line of his lips.   
“Beef sounds good,” he says, “everything okay?”

A single nod. No answer. Does that mean yes?

Cal is quiet through each of the four courses that come at perfectly timed intervals. First, an apple and walnut salad with a Japanese inspired vinaigrette, then curried pumpkin soup, followed by the steak or salmon fillet main with a balsamic reduction and garlic mashed potatoes, sautéed green beans, and hearty yeast rolls. The meal ends with a personal chocolate soufflé and a scoop of organic, locally sourced vanilla bean ice cream.

Cal answers questions throughout the meal, but there is no longer any whispering in Derek’s ear, simple, bare minimum communication. He offers smiles and greets people who greet him first, but it’s forced, and Derek can tell. Everything with Cal is usually so smooth and languid, but this is different. It feels stilted.

He never isn’t touching Derek. His hand on his knee, around his waist, on his arm, wherever is convenient at the time. Derek likes to be touched, he really does, but this feels suffocating, almost as if he needs to get away so he can take a breath of air.

As soon as the dessert plates are cleared, the goodbyes start and Derek finds himself slowly moved toward the exit until they are getting their coats and stepping out into the cool night air. Fall is in full swing now and Derek pulls his coat tight around his neck.

In the cab, he finally gets some space. Cal pulls away for long enough to give the driver an address, but not Derek’s. When he sits back, he just brushes his fingers over Derek’s.

“Come back to mine?” he asks and his tone is different now, softer, gentler. Not as terse as it’d been since the run-in with Samuel and Derek takes his hand, squeezing.

“I’d love to.”

Cal smiles.

 

Advertising pays well. The apartment is huge. It’s sleek and modern. None of the living room furniture looks comfortable, but it doesn’t matter because almost as soon as Derek has pulled off his jacket, Cal’s arms are around him and he slots their mouths together. It’s surprising, but not unwelcome. The kiss is hot and desperate. Cal pushed him back against the hallway wall and sucks a mark onto his neck. He pulls at Derek’s clothes and pushes him toward the bedroom. Derek fumbles with his belt and is barely out of his slacks before he is shoved back onto the bed. He whines loud and needy when Cal leans down and bites the hollow of his hip. Derek wants. God, he wants so bad.

His briefs end up ripped. He loses a button on his suit jacket, but soon there isn’t a thread left on him and he feels hot all over. He whines again as Cal cover’s his body with his own.

“Alpha.”

Cal grinds his hips down against him.

“Alpha!”

Cal pulls back and brings his hand down hard on Derek’s inner thigh.

“Words, boy,” he all but growls.

Derek whines, high and loud, knowing his control is slipping and he claws are reading to dig deep into the mattress.

“Alpha, want you, please,” he manages, finally and Cal smiles.

There is lube in the top drawer of the bedside table and Derek’s legs are pushed apart. Two long fingers press inside at once and Derek cries out. He arches his back and moans louder as three fingers are inside him. Cal keeps going until he’s almost got his whole damn fist inside Derek, or at least it feels that way, then pulls back.

There’s no time to whine, no time to react to the loss of feeling before the thick, blunt head of the alpha’s dick is shoved inside him. There is no time to adjust before Cal is absolutely pounding into him.

Derek can’t remember the last time he’s been fucked this hard and fast. Cal’s hand closes around his throat, not hard, not choking, but there, possessive. Derek cries out and comes before Cal is finished, is happy to just ride out the rest getting fucked this hard, but he howls at the way Cal’s hand wraps around his dick and pumps in time with the thrusting until it’s almost too much and Derek is there at the edge again.

This time, Derek comes with a loud, dry sob with the alpha howling right after.

It’s so much, almost too much. Derek is panting, his whole body shaking, shivering almost, when Cal’s arms wrap tightly around him. Derek is pulled against the alpha and clings, pressing his face to his neck, breathing in the scent of the alpha, of himself, of them. He floats, feeling as if this alpha is the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

 

Cal holds him for a long time, doesn’t try to move him or talk, just holds Derek until the beta starts to unwrap himself. When finally, Derek settles back in his body and the moment, he blinks up at the alpha who smiles.

“Hi,” Derek says.

 “You’re perfect,” Cal replies, slowly combing his fingers through Derek’s hair, “Absolutely perfect.”

Derek smiles, closing his eyes and resting his head against Cal’s chest.

“About earlier,” Cal says.

“Hm?”

“At the fundraiser. I… Didn’t like that other alpha touching you. But I shouldn’t have been so… standoffish. I’m sorry.”

Derek opens his eyes, looking up at him for a second, then nods. “Yeah. But… Samuel is over.”

Cal nods. “Yeah, just… I don’t want other alphas touching you. I want you to be mine.”

Derek is quiet, then nods, “I want to be yours.”

Cal cups his face, stroking his thumb across his cheek. “No other alphas touch you, okay?” he asks.

Derek closes his eyes for just a second, then nods. “Okay.”

Cal smiles and kisses him, pleased. And it feels good to please the alpha – his alpha, but he stays awake, staring at the ceiling after Cal drops off to sleep. _What about Stiles?_


End file.
